


Surrounded By Your Love

by chervilspotatoes



Category: Merlin (TV), Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Acceptance, Competence Kink, Established Relationship, Fluff, King John, Lazy Sherlock, M/M, Magic, Sherlock's Violin, Sorcerer Sherlock, True Love, Trust
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-24
Updated: 2015-12-24
Packaged: 2018-05-08 20:57:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5513087
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chervilspotatoes/pseuds/chervilspotatoes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John muses on what he knows of Sherlock's powerful magic and what it does to protect and love him. Fluffy and soft.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Surrounded By Your Love

**Author's Note:**

> Same universe as Until the End of My Days, although the only pertinent details are that Sherlock is the most powerful sorcerer to ever live and John is his king and mate in every way.

John had been seriously considering cancelling the knights’ training all day, but then his kingly side would resurface and cajole him with ‘Just because you want to gaze at Sherlock all day doesn’t mean Camelot lacks enemies.’ John privately thought that if Camelot’s enemies were to get the chance to gaze at Sherlock, they would be blown away—by the flick of his finger as his tightly controlled magic flung people through the air or by his swirling eyes and dashing figure. Or both. Probably both.

John questioned his sanity. Did other people become aroused thinking of their lovers rendering hundreds or thousands of people unconscious or in love with them through no effort on their part? He thought not.

But Sherlock was so amazing. He could do anything. Literally anything. Things that John had never even thought of before, Sherlock knew the spell, the method, and had already learned to control the magic inside him to perform that function and that function only when the spell was being performed. For Sherlock, John knew, keeping his magic in line was what he had to learn to do. Where other people had to struggle to expel magic from their bodies to do anything, Sherlock struggled to direct his in one thin, dilute stream that would only do what he wanted. If he didn’t, it slowly leaked from his pores and floated around him. Or at least it had before they had gotten together. John had only known Sherlock’s magic to leak from him and immediately surround him with warmth, twining over and between his fingers, holding him and serving as his pillow, blanket, or whatever he might have needed at the time.

John felt privileged to have been the only one ever (it took more magic than any other sorcerer had) to awaken utterly bathed in magic. Sherlock was under his head, cradling his face. Sherlock was holding John’s side just above the ground, cushioning him from the forest floor. Sherlock was over his body, keeping in John’s own body heat and generating more. Sherlock was in John’s periphery, keeping watch over John’s vulnerable form and protecting him better than all John’s trained armies and knights ever could. The first thing he felt was Sherlock, the first thing he saw when his eyes opened was a sleeping, at peace Sherlock. 

For John knew that Sherlock’s magic was the truest portrayal of the man there was. There was no separating Sherlock from his magic. Sherlock was his magic. Sherlock was magic. And Sherlock’s unconscious magic showed John Sherlock’s feelings more completely than words ever could, because for all of Sherlock’s surprisingly verbose and plentiful declarations of love, all of which John treasured, the difference was that Sherlock’s magic showed what the man himself might not even know. So it was okay that thousands of people were in love with Sherlock. John knew he was the only one to hold Sherlock’s heart.

John exited his musings and called the knights’ training short. Sherlock had not been sufficiently adored yet today, and that took top priority. 

He found Sherlock in their bed, laying down and absently twitching his fingers in a way that could mean just about anything. The floor was being mopped, curtains were being hung, and John recognized his helmet being viciously scrubbed, all by spells Sherlock had in place.

“Sherlock, are your fingers keeping all this going or can I kiss you?”

As an answer, Sherlock tilted his face back, elongating his neck and making his answer clear. John bent over the bed and pressed his lips to Sherlock’s, marveling how they had never kissed upside down before. It was just as good as kissing right side up. When their kiss broke, Sherlock asked for his violin.

“Most powerful sorcerer to ever live, and he can’t even flick his index finger to bring his violin to him.”

“Have to be index and middle fingers, John. The violin is precious.”

“You only fling people with one finger.”

“Depends on who they are. Unimportant people get one, people who are more trouble get two.”

“Does that mean you toss them harder?”

Sherlock grinned. “People who contrive plans personally to overthrow the love of my life get my two fingered salute.”

“So what’s gotten you in a cleaning mood?”

“Cleaning helps center my mind. I was preparing to compose.”

“Did you want me to leave, or…”

“No, no. What good is the artist if the muse is absent?” Sherlock sat up and tucked his violin under his chin. “Now, be inspiring.”

John snorted. “I do actually have a kingdom to run.”

“You are inspiring when you doggedly read through and sort your subjects’ complaints and entreaties.”

“If you say so.”


End file.
